


Le Vice Anglais

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Drummond is alive, Drummond lives, I wanted it canon compliant but fuck it, M/M, he's not suicidal, sexy cigar innuendos, slight religious shaming thoughts and Drums' wanting to jump off things but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 00:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: What's that? The air in France compelling Drummond and Alfred to loosen up a little and flirt a bit more openly. Cigar innuendos and sexy dreams torment Drummond's poor soul (and awaken his body...) as he wrestles not only with a very naked Alfred in the lake but the societal pressures on his shoulders. But all is well if it ends well.And it does because I am tired of dead LGBTQ characters.Inspired by Alfred smoking in ep 2 of season 3. We are blessed.





	Le Vice Anglais

_“What about you Drummond? Are you prepared to be led into temptation?”_

Edward heard Alfred’s voice ring in his head again as he watched him across the table after dinner.

Alfred was masterfully (and really, if he was honest, sinfully) taking a long drag from a ginormous expensive cigar, taking his time to curl those soft lips of his around the tip, letting his eyes close in pleasure, cheeks hollow as he sucked on the cigar, testing it, tasting it, then inhaling deeply and slowly. Then, he did not so much simply take the cigar out of his mouth, no, he seemed to just let his lips slide lazily off the surface of the object, after which, Drummond observed wildly, Alfred licked his lips leisurely – after all, they were only in the company of men now – eyes still closed, as long as he had exhaled every last bit of the thick smoke, which then furled upwards elegantly in the air around him, casting his pearly skin and golden locks in a mysterious kind of fog, which suited the man himself, making him all the more intriguing and inscrutable, a vision of one’s dreams.

When he finally opened his eyes again, it was to look at Edward directly.

If Alfred’s lips curled into a knowing smirk at the sight of Drummond catching himself staring, really, speechlessly, longingly, breathlessly, staring, jaws on the floor, Drummond didn’t see for he quickly buried his flushed face in his glass of French wine, wishing it was cooler.

‘Care for one, Drummond?’ Alfred asked – and oh, how raspy and deep his voice suddenly was from the smoke, sensual and salacious.

‘I… I would love to,’ Drummond replied once he found his voice. ‘But I wouldn’t know how.’

‘Have you never had one before?’ Alfred asked.

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘Sticking to your handy cheroots, are you?’

‘I have found them satisfactory enough thus far. But, having seen you… You seem to enjoy these so and I wonder...’

‘Well then,’ Alfred said, doing that little nod with his head, eyebrows twitching in a mischievous little way, and pushed the gilded box of cigars towards Drummond. ‘Can I tempt you?’

There was no mistaking it this time, and the men’s eyes met in a knowing look and if any one of the worldly gentlemen around them stopped their ridiculous, boring chatter about the strange cuisine or politics or whatever, they would not have missed their flirtatious smirks and the air sizzling between them.

Drummond took one cigar from the box and smelled it.

‘It’s an acquired taste,’ Alfred noted, taking another drag. ‘Not many men develop a fancy for it. But if my instincts are correct, I think you might grow to like it.’

‘What if I grow to love it?’ Edward heard himself say, he hardly knew why. He had an inkling Alfred was not only strictly speaking about cigars so now he sounded like he said one thing and meant another, too. And perhaps he did. It was such a delicate game and he sensed the danger he introduced because Alfred, despite his calm and smooth manners up until now, had no clever quip in response to that. In fact, Drummond wondered if that was a sign of Alfred’s heart having skipped a beat just as his own just had.

He took out his tinderbox, lit it swiftly, and raised it to the end of the cigar.

‘Wait, not like that,’ Alfred stopped him.

‘Show me then,’ Drummond said, feeling daring and the colour of Alfred’s cheeks was a reward that pleased him enormously.

‘I think you have just watched me do it quite closely, Drummond.’

‘My apologies, it was quite fascinating to behold. I couldn’t help it.’

‘Indeed. I felt like an actor on stage.’

‘It was a beautiful performance, Lord Alfred.’

Alfred seemed lost for a quick comeback again. He went shy under Drummond’s gaze now.

‘You… you’re supposed to put it in your mouth before you light it,’ Alfred offered, glad that no one in their earshot spoke a word of English.

‘Like this?’ Drummond asked and relished in Alfred not being able to tear his eyes off him as he mimicked the process he had just witnessed.

Alfred watched, no, Edward _compelled_ Alfred to watch, as he opened his mouth wider than when going for a cheroot, placed the cigar between his lips and lit it with the fire from his tinderbox.

‘Take it in slowly, gently, just yet,’ Alfred instructed, barely finding his own voice now too. ‘It helps if…’

‘If what?’ Drummond asked quickly between his attempts to get the cigar smoking as it should.

‘If… you wet your lips…’

Drummond crossed his legs under the table and prayed the moment someone suggested they stood and joined the ladies in the salon was not to come too soon.

He drank more of his wine and licked his lips before returning to the cigar.

A few more shorter drags and he felt he was getting the hang of it.

‘Very good, Drummond,’ Alfred supplied, still intently watching, not wanting to miss a moment of this, yet he also seemed to be miles away in his mind at the same time… ‘Now, you can try to…’

‘Try to…?’ Drummond provoked elaboration. He wanted to hear Alfred say more. His voice…

‘To, uh… Inhale deeper.’

‘Deeper?’

‘Yes.’

‘How deep?’

‘As deeply as you prefer,’ Alfred replied, playing the game with pleasure. ‘It’s more intense than the cheroots. You’ll see. Personally, I prefer to take it in as deeply as I can.’

‘Do you?’ Drummond asked, fighting a tremble in his lips.

‘I do. Just as long as it doesn’t hurt. Only just. Though… sometimes there is pleasure in pain as well.’

Drummond had to take a second and think before he completely lost his senses watching Alfred take a deep, deep drag from his cigar once again.

They had been dancing around whatever there was between them that was not friendship for months. Years, really. Drummond had, at least. Before Alfred, he had never truly thought anything about certain activities he now yearned to try with him. He had stumbled upon something or other in Sir Robert’s notes to criminal codes about what men who seek the company of other men do and he only remembered thinking the punishments were far too harsh for such trivial acts that were surely of no consequence to anyone but those participating, but he had only just started his position as a Private Secretary – he wasn’t about to question the Prime Minister on indecency laws on his first day.

But a lot had happened since then and his dreams were often penetrated by most sinful images of Lord Alfred and he found his body respond before his consciousness had caught up on what was happening. His heart raced at the sight of Alfred, his gaze was averted to his fine body when he ought to have been paying close attention to the Queen of England and the Prime Minister’s talks. His heart raced and sang with joy when Alfred seemed to find his suggestions worthy. He was fond of everything Alfred had to say, the way he laughed at things, his sense of humour. And before long, he found he had a longing not only to talk but to reach out and touch Alfred’s skin, his hair, to feel his scent, to find out whether his lips were as soft and sweet as they looked, to hold him, embrace him, as he knew he should have felt about his fiancée but did not.

In fact, now that he knew what it felt like to desire someone as he desired Alfred, imagining all that with Florence filled him, if not with disgust or repulsion, with clear discomfort.

By the time he realised what all this meant, it was too late to question whether he was of criminal intent or a sinner or whatever else he knew he would be called and put on the pillory for.

But all that dwarfed when he was with Alfred. In fact, being in France with Alfred had been even more intense an experience than their usual time spent together in London. Maybe it was the sense of laxness, the relative freedom, or the sometimes shocking displays of emotions and tastes here that were not to be borne on the Isles. Perhaps it was the intoxicating thought that they were, after all, on terrain where _Code Napoleon_ was in effect, and Drummond knew what that meant and was certain Alfred did so also. Or even beside all that, it was the distance – they were in a faraway, warm, exotic land, where it the usual norms, laws, and rules did not apply as rigidly as at home in any case.

So it was no wonder they had arrived at all that double talk about cigars when Drummond spent the day listening to Alfred speak fluent French (music that seemed to travel down Drummond’s spine in jolts of pleasure with its every note), or the scandalously shaped croquembouche tower, or the accompanying talk about being led into temptation, or the way Alfred, who was otherwise always perfectly skilled at etiquette managed to distract Drummond from his empty chatter with the person in the seat next to him by having a drop of cream spill on the side of his lips and easing it into his mouth with his finger, not without subtly licking the tip of his finger clean, too---

‘Drummond?’ Alfred’s voice woke him from his most indecent musings. ‘Is it not to your taste, after all?’

Drummond realised he had stopped smoking the cigar when lost in thought.

‘On the contrary. I had no idea such pleasures were possible. And I suspect I am ignorant about much, much more, yet.’

‘There’s always time to learn,’ Alfred replied, finishing his cigar.

‘With the right teacher,’ Drummond replied, looking directly at Alfred for emphasis.

Alfred blushed again. But before he could reply, His Majesty rose and it was time to join the women.

***

‘Shhhh,’ Alfred whispered into Edward’s ear, his breath soothing on the sweaty skin on Edward’s neck. ‘You mustn’t give us away.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Alfred,’ Edward whispered back, voice shaking and breaking as he felt Alfred’s hands go up and down, up and down on him, slick with saliva.

‘Then, if you can promise to be quiet…’ Alfred said and returned to pleasuring Edward with his mouth.

Edward couldn’t take it, his breaths alone were uncontrollable and his body responded in the throes of pleasure Alfred was bringing him to, so he reached out for the corner of the pillow and stuffed its corner in his own mouth to keep himself quiet.

Alfred’s mouth was warm, and his tongue touched Edward just where he needed it, when he needed it, and he was in Heaven. Just before he spent, Alfred suddenly stopped.

‘Alfred?’ Edward tried to say, muffled by the pillow in his mouth.

‘I’m here,’ Alfred whispered again, coming up to embrace Edward, his naked body entangled with Edward’s, kissing up his neck and letting Edward feel the delightful weight of his body.

Edward reached out to touch Alfred and found he was just as hard as Edward was.

‘Alfred… Alfred…’ Edward heard himself moan in a voice so low and dark he barely recognised it as his own.

The door opened and shut as a cold draught of air swept through the room. Edward’s eyes flew open. Alfred was nowhere.

He was still heaving, biting on his pillow case, heart beating fast, and he was definitely just as hard as in his dream but Alfred’s warmth was absent from his arms.

He threw the stifling covers off his sweaty body and turned to his side.

This must have been the hundredth such obscene dream he had had about his friend.

His friend. He thought about Alfred as that, called him that in public, in Society, but he knew that it wasn’t entirely impossible that just a few rooms down the corridor, Alfred was having the same sort of dreams about (he hoped) Edward.

Still, how would he bear facing him came daylight? The shame… The embarrassment! And yet… He was still drunk with images of Alfred from his dream, vivid in his mind’s eye, and though he knew it was advised against, he couldn’t help reaching under the covers and touching himself as he had been touching Alfred just seconds before in his imagination.

His eyes fell shut as he tried to bring back thoughts of Alfred’s body, both from his dream and the day before.

Because as it happened, since the first dinner, which had been rife with highly inappropriate flirting, the events of the day after ensured that Edward no longer had to wonder what Alfred’s unclad body would feel like beneath his palms.

God himself put that pond there in the woods for them to find, Drummond firmly believed.

The day was brilliantly sunny, in fact, it was a warm summer’s day, which was begging the mere mortals walking the earth to spend it outside, basking in its glow.

But that, and the brisk pace with which they followed Prince Albert on his walk through the woods, guaranteed that when they stumbled upon a little lake and felt its promising cool, refreshing air from above, they could not refuse to nearly tear off their clothes and jump right in.

As he immersed himself in the water, Drummond felt alive and possibly the freest in his life. To be out there, one with nature, got well shot of his stiff collars and suffocating cravat…

He swam towards the surface for air but he was met with a force that prevented him from it. With slight panic, he flailed his arms underwater until they bumped into something – something warm and alive and—

He fought himself to the surface and caught his breath, his blurry vision seeing Alfred’s wet blonde locks and otherwise angelic face that now wore a playful, mischievous grin.

‘Hey!’ Drummond coughed, spitting a mouthful of water back in the lake. ‘Alfred!’

‘Sorry, it was too tempting.’

‘Oh, was it?’ Drummond replied, laughing, and moved to catch Alfred by surprise and launch a counter-attack.

They spent most of the bathing play-wrestling in the water.

Inadvertently or not, this disguised making contact with each other that would otherwise be obviously inappropriate as simply laddish play. Prince Albert and Prince Ernst had no suspicion as to the deliberateness of these touches – shoulders grabbed, nails digging into muscles on their abdomens, thighs, legs entangled in attempts to fight being pushed underwater---

And he found himself, and Alfred, still touching even when they were catching their breaths and not trying to submerge the other’s body.

The sensation of his thigh brushing against that of Alfred’s and conniving to feel it again, again...

Alfred’s naked, naked body. Alfred’s naked, wet, naked body, in his arms. Alfred’s…

‘Alfred…’ Edward heard himself say out loud in the privacy of his bedchamber the night after that, after the bathing, after his dream, as he was about to---

The door rattled again.

Drummond froze, opened his eyes, and listened.

Was it the draught again?

No, the door latch was turned – someone definitely opened his door and entered, quietly but not completely without sound.

Drummond pretended to be asleep, motionless, imitating the calm, hearty breathings of a person definitely not awake and definitely not frustrated to the end of his wits because under the bedsheets he was still throbbing, aching for release.

And then he thought wildly… what if Alfred had come?

He waited with anticipation… As if by some miracle, Alfred had heard him calling out in the night for him in rapture. He imagined with hope that any second he would feel Alfred’s weight on his bed, his enchanting scent, mixed with traces of those cigars, would hit him as he slid under the covers, pushed his body against his, and touched him as he so longed for---

His hopes were quickly dashed as he heard the intruder stoke the fire. Ah. It was only a maid, she must have come to make the fire – though he didn’t understand what for as it was hot enough as it was despite his open windows.

Two sobering minutes later the maid was gone. Drummond turned around in his bed to check he was truly alone again.

He lay on his back, watching the canopy of his bed for a while, thinking, thinking, thinking.

If he believed in God when he praised Him for guiding them to the Heavenly little pond in the daytime, he supposed he should have taken the intrusion of a maid into his bedchamber in a most vulnerable moment as a sign also. He felt like a child who got his hand slapped when reaching into a biscuit tin not meant for him.

He felt guilty enough as it was – he could not imagine the guilt he would feel once he was married, thinking back to nights such as this one. He wondered if other married men he knew also wrestled with such memories, or even ones that were not simply youthful fancies but one’s actual past actions. He wondered if Alfred had such memories to speak of. Probably. No, not really. Or did he? No, he can’t have, else why would he have been satisfied with being Drummond’s friend in chastity for almost three years?

Unless he was not so chaste when he was not with Drummond.

Oh, the thought filled Edward with the torture of jealousy as he had never felt before. It sent jolts of pain through his chest and he rubbed quick tears out of his eyes.

He must have gone mad. He was insane, that’s what he was facing.

Well, whatever it was, it would have to be given up before long. They would travel back to London very soon and, though Drummond had been trying to weasel out of setting a date for months, Florence would surely continue demanding one. And he was awfully reluctant, of course: so long as there was not a definite deadline on his freedom, his married life seemed a distant time that had not yet taken shape. He knew once they determined a date for the wedding, it would be a tangible reality that would surely arrive sooner than he hoped.

He blamed himself for all that, of course. What a mistake! What a sham! And it was all his fault. Well, it had been arranged over his head for the most part – it had long been understood by his family and Florence’s that they would marry one day even though he hardly knew the girl – but he was the one who proposed. He could have refused to do so but he couldn’t think of any real reason not to.

At the time.

As things were, increasingly so, he could hardly look his fiancée in the eye. He wondered how long before the jig would be up: surely she would realise one day how incapable he was of loving her, whether with heart or body. And it wasn’t only his forced affections for her, she wasn’t a fool, she would notice... Above all, that is what he feared. Surely, with time, she would find him out.

And what was to become of his and Alfred’s friendship then? If he was worried now that Alfred spent time with other men, men who returned his feelings and were freer and braver than Drummond, brave enough to express them, then this would only intensify once he had married. He saw how crestfallen Alfred was when he realised Drummond was engaged – he had barely spoken to him all the way from London to this chateau royale! Surely, he was doomed to lose Alfred.

He would lose Alfred before he even had the chance to really _have_ him.

He would lose Alfred.

He would _lose Alfred_.

His breathing had evened eventually. He dried his eyes with the sleeve of his nightshirt and, deciding he was not going to be able to go back to sleep, stood, put out the fire the maid had unnecessarily made, and then walked over to the window.

A light breeze wafted through the door – it was warm but felt refreshingly cool on his skin, the fabric of his garment still being damp from his sweat. The grounds were still dark – not for long, he supposed – but he enjoyed the privacy of the moment. The perfume-filled, warm atmosphere could not have been further from the unforgiving coldness of such an hour in London. Here, he could stand in his window with half his shirt buttons undone and admire the gardens as he wished; no fog, none of the bustle and stench and dust of the city dirtied this landscape. He leaned out to observe the height – the thought of what would happen if he jumped, no, fell, intruding into his mind. But it was a brief thought only. Too much life filled the air. Even the vines running on the side of the castle were screaming about life, nature, and buoyancy.

But oh-

As his eyes followed the ivy, he became aware he was being seen. No, not seen – watched.

His window faced the grounds but also another window at a slight angle, which was also opened wide, and in which Lord Alfred was standing in a silk dressing gown over his nightshirt.

He was holding a book of poetry in his hand – apparently the reason for his having got out of bed - and seemed equally surprised to see Drummond at this hour in this state.

The strange thing was, though, that despite all the flirting and inappropriate elements of their stay thus far in France, bathing naked together, or Drummond’s most indecent dreams, the look they shared in this quiet, secret moment was not more oil on that fire. It spoke of something else. Edward sought to define it and realised that he felt as if Alfred was allowing him to see him at his truest.

Without any traces of artifice and constrained mannerisms as at court.

Without impropriety or hidden meanings.

Without shame or shyness.

With… with l… with lo—

Alfred smiled at Edward and walked out of sight. Edward stayed rooted to the spot, cursing himself for being too cowardly to go to Alfred’s room. Not because he would propose to commit all the carnal sins of his imagination with Alfred at once.

Because he knew he would confess to Alfred without thinking that he had utterly and undeniably fallen in love, well and truly in love, real, unbearable love, with him.

***

‘…and that’s when I knew,’ Edward finished, still gently stroking Alfred’s messy locks absent-mindedly as he lay across his chest at night. He had been speaking for longer than he had intended, probably, his eyelids were begging to be allowed to fall so that he could give in to sleep. But Alfred was quiet. ‘Alfred? My love, have you fallen asleep?’

‘No, I’m… I have not. I was just… listening.’

‘... and?’

‘And…’

‘Do you find me awfully vulgar now?’

Alfred raised himself on his elbow and turned to Edward. ‘Me? You? Vulgar? Really, after the events of tonight you cannot think I am allowed the right to call you vulgar.’

It was true, the reality of being with Alfred surpassed Edward’s wildest dreams. Indeed, he wondered whether his knees would hold up when he would attempt to walk in the morning.

Alfred had to visit him as soon as he got his note, telling him about the broken engagement. He cared not a fig about some soirée or other that he was to attend at the Palace, he simply had to dash to Edward’s place, alone, needing him more than ever.

It was done. He wasn’t going to marry her.

He had no idea Edward was all alone but as soon as he realised that, he could not help it even if he wanted to, kissed him senseless, until they fell into bed and declared their love in all ways possible, with words and without.

‘Then what’s wrong?’ Edward asked, tracing Alfred’s features, his long lashes, his fair skin, his soft lips. He was beautiful. But he was melancholy.

‘I suppose I am sorry that you were tormenting yourself so.’

‘I wasn’t…’ Edward replied weakly.

Alfred cuddled closer and kissed him.

‘I should have noticed. If I had known, I wouldn’t have spoken to you so… unforgivably, at Ciro’s, when you said you would break off your engagement.’

‘It’s all in the past now.’

‘But I hate to think of the guilt and shame I had caused you.’

‘Alfred,’ Edward spoke firmly now. ‘You have caused me nothing but joy. No, you have given me more than that: you have shown me what love is, what makes life worth living, Alfred. In fact, I believe I was destined to be yours. Even the bullet,’ and here he indicated his still bandaged arm that was thankfully healing well. ‘It was so that I could have an excuse to break it off with minimal scandal. After all it wasn’t announced yet and, though my parents and Florence’s had to have their grumble, everyone’s talking about the incident rather than that. I believe that the real purpose of everything I have ever done was to bring me closer to you.’

‘Good. Because I dread to think you believe God disapproves of our love, or that we are in the wrong in any way, before the natural laws of the world or before God or anything – do you understand? You are perfect. There is nothing wrong with you.’

‘I know.’

‘And if you ever doubt that, I shall be here to remind you. No jumping out any windows, off any cliffs, or any heights,’

‘God, no.’

‘Bloody right you won’t. You are perfect the way you are.’

‘I love you,’ Edward said, still barely comprehending that he was able to say this out loud to Alfred and for it to evoke not rejection but reciprocation.

‘I love you too,’ Alfred whispered and kissed Edward again. Before something occurred to him. ‘Edward?’

‘Hm?’ Edward replied, eyes still closed, never wanting to kiss Alfred, ever.

‘I have a confession.’

Edward listened.

‘Just so you know, I was not… seeing anyone. So your jealousy was wasted. I have had no eyes for anyone else but you ever since I met you. But that night in France,’ Alfred began sheepishly. ‘I couldn’t sleep. At all. I was still excited after all the things that happened that day, much like yourself. And… it wasn’t the draught from your window rattling the door that woke you. It was me.’

‘Alfred?’

‘I… I couldn’t stand it anymore and… you were suddenly so willing to give me… signs. I had doubted my guesses before that, especially having learned that you were to marry. But in France, I realised I was right about you - perhaps I was even actively trying to find you out. And so, after all the talk, and the cigars, and the lake… I wanted to go to your room. I did. Well, my hand was on the latch, I turned it, opened the door an inch, but just before I could enter, I heard the scullery maid come up the stairs and had to flee before I was seen.’

‘Alfred—’

‘I could not risk her finding me in your room, after all. Or your door being locked and mine empty. Even in France, _especially_ in France with people much more worldly about these things over there, that would have been scandalous – _le vice anglais_ , as they say. At a royal party? No. And I could not have been sure you would even want me there. No, I really couldn’t,’ Alfred insisted when Edward tried to protest. ‘Or maybe I was a coward, and I mean, you were engaged, it would have been wrong of me to push myself on you, and if Her Majesty had got wind of it, we--’

Edward silenced Alfred’s anxious confession with passionate kisses to wash away any worries or guild or shame or regret that was in their past. And once the sun rose outside his bedroom window hours later, it mattered not anymore.

What mattered was all the joy and love in the future they would share.

‘Alfred?’ Edward asked between kisses, suddenly not at all that sleepy.

‘Yes?’

‘What would you have done if you had made it into my chamber in France?’

‘I’m glad you asked,’ Alfred replied and readily demonstrated everything they had missed out on.

Drummond’s knees were weak for days after Alfred was done with him.

**Author's Note:**

> "Le vice anglais", or "the English vice", is a term used in France for homosexuality in and around the 18th century, similar to "the German vice" or "the French vice", depending on where you were. (Not so) fun fact: the association between homosexuality and queerness was alive and well even in the First World War (see Noel Pemberton Billing and his Black Book), as it still kind of is today to be honest, whenever a right wing government claims homosexuality is a vice "promoted" by the liberal west. It's all been a thing since "Florenzer" became synonymous with sodomites.
> 
> Wiki source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_history#Association_of_homosexuality_with_foreignness  
> Better source: www.glbtqarchive.com/ssh/united_kingdom_01_S.pdf (and its part 2 if you're hooked: www.glbtqarchive.com/ssh/united_kingdom_02_S.pdf )  
> Actual 1810 London Chronicle about men in the pillory after a gay club raid in which foreigners' influence is blamed: https://books.google.hu/books?id=T91RAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA311&lpg=PA311&dq=haymarket+pillory&source=bl&ots=-Zo4GE3EAD&sig=ACfU3U3V4FrQOCyXW1sP3gYlgBwj0aX4ew&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi6yJvH2JjgAhWQ3KQKHWH0BC8Q6AEwAXoECAQQAQ#v=onepage&q=haymarket%20pillory&f=false


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